


The Broadgate Tower Coffeeshop

by MovesLikeBucky



Series: Ineffable Outliers Weekly Prompts [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen, also don't forget to tip your baristas, is it a coffeeshop au if it's not an au?, the long suffering silence of your local barista
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 20:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20431982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: In which three well-meaning but underpaid Baristas are subject to the tensions of the (unknown to them) demons and angels that work in Broadgate Tower.It's no worse than any of their other regular customers.





	The Broadgate Tower Coffeeshop

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a weekly challenge in the wonderful Ineffable Outliers discord server!
> 
> The prompt for this week was "Heaven and Hell hold a board meeting at a coffee shop very much ran by normal humans on Earth" which is what I was initially gonna do, but then we started Pumpkin Spice at my work this week and it turned into a convoluted way to blame the PSL on Crowley.
> 
> Cheers!

Broadgate Tower was, at the outset, an altogether normal office building.

There were real estate offices, sales offices, legal offices, offices that did some sort of business that even the people working there weren’t sure about; any office you could think of.

Like most office buildings in the 21st century, there was a coffee shop in the lobby. Hard to handle the daily grind of the corporate sector without a boost of caffeine. Office workers of all kinds would flock to the little shop every day, in their smart three-piece suits and overly-expensive shoes, for their much-needed fix.

Yes, most of the workers in the Broadgate Tower were very well-paid corporate entities. Not so much the baristas in the coffeeshop.

When you work for the minimum wage, you get used to certain things. You get used to being treated like you’re not _entirely_ human. You get used to hearing things that normal people with manners would never say to anyone they actually gave a toss about.

Demands to see the manager over the inability to make a drink that they don’t even carry the ingredients for (what _exactly_ is supposed to be in a Pokemon Go Frappuccino? We still don’t know, really. This isn’t a bloody Starbucks.)

Flash bastard suck-ups who really want to be the CEOs of their company loudly complaining into their phones about the wait times (what, exactly, did they expect when tower staffing would only budget for three baristas during rush hour?).

Screaming over lattes being 5 degrees too cold, then about them being 5 degrees too hot after being remade (the machines are automatic, both drinks were the exact same).

The same individuals, after having their drink remade three times, saying things like “See, it’s not so hard, is it? You’re just making coffee after all!” while laughing shrilly, covering their mouths with their hands to show off their overly expensive French manicures.

“Whatever ‘hell’ actually is,” said one barista, after a particularly crazy morning rush, “It can’t possibly be worse than _that_.”

“Just wait, Rose, you’ll get used to it,” Kristy, the shift lead, added as she tried to unearth the condiment bar from the seemingly endless pile of sugar and sugar substitutes that had buried it, “It’s only your first day, and you’re doing great.”

“They really need to get us a fourth morning shift,” said Jisel, the last of the three, currently grinding coffee to replenish what the morning stampede had obliterated, “It’s bad enough to deal with the rush, worse when they show up.”

“When who shows up?” asked Rose, “I thought that was the bulk of it?”

“The ‘gangs’,” Kristy said sarcastically, “Bit of an odd bunch; seem to absolutely hate each other. Never can figure out what their offices do, but it always feels like a bomb is gonna go off when they come in the morning.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Rose’s eyes widened, “can it?”

“The tension is the worst,” Jisel groaned as she set up the coffee baskets to brew, “like they’re waiting for a war to come or something.”

“One group works on the top floor,” Kristy said as she scooped out more sugar into the dispensers, “Those are the ones that wear all beige and gray. The other work in the basement, wear all black and some of them stink. Upstairs is all fake smiles and downstairs is all depression, it’s quite odd.”

“And don’t get me _started_ on their manners,” Jisel pressed the ‘brew’ button on the machines and turned her attention to the pastries, “One of them, some American asshole with purple contacts, always calling our food ‘gross matter’. Like, buddy, it’s not my fault this is what corporate sends us.”

“Oh! Or the baldie, always staring! Shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that leering, creeps me right out!” Kristy suppressed a shiver of fear at the thought of the bastard.

“Isn’t he the one with the grills in his teeth?” Jisel winced at the thought, “What does he think he’s a millennial or something? He’s not fooling anyone, he’s gotta be at least 45! Or even the short one, with the fly hat!”

“What, like, a cool hat?” asked Rose.

“No, like, a literal_ house fly_ but it’s a _hat_ on their actual head,” Jisel said waving the pastry tongs about, “They wanted to fire me for wearing a necklace one day and this one gets to wear a _hat that looks like a housefly_?”

“Come on now, you know they don’t work for tower staffing,” Kristy had given up at this point and taken position at one of the tables to watch whatever shit was on the tele currently, “Whatever company it is must be pretty lenient.”

“Dunno how lenient you can be when the best place you could rent out is a basement. All the ones that wear black work in the basement.” Jisel poked at a stale scone with the tongs, “Seems ever so dreary.”

“’Cept for the one with the sunglasses, he’s always good for a joke.” This whole job was a joke. A sense of humor had always been something Kristy could appreciate, even if most of their customers couldn’t.

“Yeah, when he’s here. Usually just the rest of the lot though,” The scone continued to be regarded with disdain before being unceremoniously tossed in the garbage and replaced with a fresher one,

“What about the professor looking fellow from the upstairs group?”

“The fuddy-duddy?” Kristy asked, wrinkling her nose and flipping through the channels. Rose had taken to cleaning the same tabletops she’d already cleaned.

“That’s not very nice,” The tongs hand moved on to poking at one of the unfortunate looking breakfast sandwiches, “He always leaves good tips!”

“S’pose that’s true; day always seems to go better after he visits.”

“Still haven’t figured out how we seem to have marshmallows when he’s here,” Jisel said, “We don’t usually have them do we?”

“Probably best not to question it.” Kristy, out of everyone, had been there the longest and had seen the majority of the strangeness the ‘gangs’ (as the baristas all called them) could be. Sometimes things happened when they were around and if you thought too hard on it, you’d find yourself with an upset stomach or a migraine.

This was how it was with coffee shops. Part of the business. Marshmallows existed when the fuddy duddy was around, and that was that.

“Um, ‘scuse me,” Rose piped up from where she was cleaning the same table a third time, “Did it get colder in here?”

“Ah,” Kristy stood to take back her position behind the bar, tossing the remote on a table, “They’re here.”

It was only three of them today (a blessing, if you believed that sort of thing) but it would have to be the worst possible three. She knew their names, of course. You didn’t work in the same place this long and not learn customer names. Beelzebub, Hastur, and Ligur. Weird names, but a coffee is a coffee.

The first, hot chocolate with cinnamon - extra whipped cream.

The second, black coffee with two shots of espresso.

The third always changed his order with the season. Sometimes she could swear his eyes changed color, too. She thought to her old worn out glasses and thought how nice it must be to afford contacts, much less color ones.

“Finally! I might spare your deaths for another day,” the one known as Ligur said, “It appears you’ve all come to your senses and deigned to bring my preferred drink back. I’ll have the pumpkin spice.” He said this with a snarl, making it sound eviller and foreboding than any overly-sweet sugar-drenched latte should. Which was difficult, because around here “Pumpkin Spice” was a four-letter word. Jisel punched the order into the till with the complete indifference one can only gain by working in the customer service industry.

Rose looked like she might jump out of her skin from her position by the oven, and Kristy couldn’t really blame her. There was a certain aura that came with the basement workers; doom and gloom was the best way to describe it. The fact that the one seemed to have a reptilian hand sticking out from under his blonde hair didn’t help.

Best to ignore that.

Also best to ignore the beady eyes boring holes through her as she filled half of the large cup with whipped cream for the weird fly-hat person. Did they even blink?

“Cinnamon if you please.” Beelzebub said with a buzz and obvious disdain, poking a straw into the lid that was clearly not for straws. Kristy turned her attention to the espresso shots running for the black coffee. She was sure that she very much did _not_ see the person offer the straw to their hat and _most certainly_ did not see the hat actually drink from it.

She had gotten very good at not seeing things.

The other two joined the first at the hand-off plane, both grumbling.

“I don’t see how you drink that blessed shit,” said the one called Hastur, “You know that _Crowley_ got a commendation for it1.” He said the name ‘Crowley’ the same way one might say ‘toenail fungus’.

“It’s awful.” Said Ligur who, for today, seemed to have settled on a highlighter-yellow for his color contacts.

“Oh,” said the other, “Well that’s alright then.”

They often spoke like this. Backwards, in Kristy’s mind.

“Um,” Rose piped up from her position as Kristy added the swirl of whip cream to the pumpkin-only-in-name latte, “Now it feels warmer in here?”

“Nah, it’s cuz you’re by the oven,” Jisel said.

Kristy declined to comment; she already knew they were coming. She’d had lots of days seeing the tension flooding into the depressing group in front of her.

Sure enough, in walked the upstairs department. All four smiling so wide as if there was something just behind their teeth trying to claw its way out.

She knew all the names but one. The tall American never ordered, only complained. Uriel, Michael, and Sandalphon were the other three.

They all got the same thing. Americanos. No room, no cream, no sugar.

The small person in the fly hat stared at the American. The American stared back at them.

“Ah, Beelzebub,” the man said, clasping his hands in front of him, stooping down slightly to address who they knew as Beelz, “What an absolute _pleasure_ to run into you again.” He said ‘pleasure’ the same way one might say ‘mandatory monthly torture meetings’.

“Gabriel,” fly-hat replied, looking altogether taller than they had a few moments ago, “Not too bzzzy being self-righteouzzz elzzewhere?”

It always astounded the baristas how they could so easily talk down to another who had a good three feet of height on them. Impressive, to say the least.

The tension in the room was palpable. Like being stuck in pea soup. Like being on a knife edge. Like any moment something was going to snap, and they’d have to run to the phone and call in the police for the inevitable brawl that would definitely probably break out today.

But that was just a typical Friday afternoon at any other time of the day, so Kristy went on with making the Americanos.

The two individuals stared at each other for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. Jisel didn’t speak. Kristy didn’t speak. Rose, well, tried not to speak but definitely whimpered from her little corner of the back bar.

First days were always overwhelming.

And then, as it had transpired every other day, fly-hat broke the eye contact and began walking past the American, head held high. Defiant. Them and the other two would walk out the door, the upstairs people would leave shortly after, and the rest of the day would proceed along as it always does.

This time, fly-hat stopped.

“You are aware,” they said, pure anger palpable even to the baristas behind the bar, “It izz only five more dayz. We are The Fallen, and we _will_ rizze from the ashezz.”

“Whatever helps you make it through the day, Beelzy,” the American said mockingly. Kristy saw fly-hat bristle at this nickname, “We all know the greater good will triumph in the end.”

And with that, the downstairs people left. The upstairs people were given their drinks. They smiled their fake smiles; they didn’t leave a tip2. The baristas stared after them, as they always do, still not sure what to make of it. Even after five years, Kristy’s never figured it out.

"What do you think they meant by that, Kristy?" Jisel asked, "Five days until what?"

"No idea, probably just some corporate garbage, like it always is."

The beeping of the coffee timer kicked them out of their stupor and back to business at hand. Nothing new really, world keeps spinning on as it always does.

______

1 – Crowley had been quite proud of his influence in the creation of the phenomenon known as the “Pumpkin Spice Latte”. An entire pumpkin based beverage without a bit of pumpkin in it, just the spices usually associated with it. It had been a big hit and he’d received a commendation from it on the sheer amount of vanity and addiction it had produced. This of course backfired on him when Aziraphale had proclaimed them to be “quite scrummy indeed”.

2 – Sandalphon, however, did entreat them to “Climb every mountain and ford every stream”, which did little more than confuse the baristas.

**Author's Note:**

> For honesty's sake, two of the characters (Jisel and Kristy) are actually based on a coworker and myself. Rose is a Doctor Who reference but in name only.
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr under the name MovesLikeBucky, I'll tell you about all the weird customers I've had over the past 7 years!


End file.
